


Wing and Wolf

by microwaveslayer



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angelic transformations, Developing Relationships, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Transphobia, Librarians, M/M, POC!Marcus, Strex overthrow, Trans Male Character, lycanthropy, world-building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-05 14:31:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4183413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microwaveslayer/pseuds/microwaveslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earl Harlan knew two things about Marcus Vanston. First, he was Night Vale's wealthiest citizen, something Earl didn't particularly care about. Second, Marcus Vanston had given Earl his number and asked to get coffee sometime, which Earl cared far more about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Acid Rain and First Dates

Earl sighed, ducking under an acid rain-proofed awning. He watched the rain patter onto the concrete, taking a tentative step away from the growing puddles. He reached into his coat pocket for a pack of cigarettes, huffing as he tried to light it.  
“What shitty weather.”  
Earl turned his head and found Night Vale's wealthiest citizen staring back at him. The ginger nodded and turned his focus back on his cigarette. He managed to get it lit and raised a brow at Marcus Vanston.  
“I don't mind,” Marcus said, shrugging.  
Earl took a long drag and sighed. “Haven't seen a storm like this since the last time I went off on one of my camping trips.”  
“You're . . . Cecil's friend, right? The one that works at Tourniquet?” Marcus asked.  
“Yeah. Why?”  
“Well, he said on the radio you're a great cook and I was hoping to get a reservation.”  
“You could buy Tourniquet if you wanted,” Earl said, chuckling. “Just talk to Martin.”  
“Tell them you sent me?”  
“Tell them I demanded they squeeze you in. Martin'll understand.”  
Marcus smiled at Earl. The ginger continued smoking, watching as lightning touched down on a reeking puddle and the water crackled.  
“So you go camping often?”  
Earl shrugged and muttered, “Once in a full moon.”  
Marcus tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “That often?”  
Earl nodded and glanced at Marcus out of the corner of his eye. He realized Marcus didn't know and sighed, finishing his cigarette and flicking the butt into a puddle, watching the acid eat away.  
He shrugged and explained to the billionaire, “It helps me think. I'm not exactly a people person, Mister Vanston.”  
“Call me Marcus,” the billionaire corrected quickly. “Mister Vanston is, well, dead, I think.”  
Earl raised a brow but didn't press the issue. Marcus didn't press Earl's own issue.  
“So how is the camping outside of Night Vale?” Marcus asked, arms crossed as he leaned against the book store behind him.  
Earl shrugged, “Not too bad.”  
“I bed there's something you can't get in the sand wastes,” Marcus said, grinning.  
“Like what?”  
“A date.”  
Earl thought for a moment before he realised that Marcus was flirting with him. He rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled, “I guess not.”  
“So coffee?”  
“A strong cup?” Earl asked, raising a brow.  
“The strongest,” Marcus told him, smiling crookedly.  
Earl inspected him for a moment. After all, billionaires don't just walk up to strangers and start up a casual conversation. At least they didn't in Earl's experience.  
“Alright,” he said finally. “Where? I'm free Tuesday afternoon, after the mandated hour for existential dread at one.”  
“Perfect. Meet me at four? There's this perfect place. The staff hardly hisses or removes their human skin,” Marcus explained.  
Earl nodded and watched the acidic downpour. One more crack of thunder and the storm seemed to let up. “Is it that new café? The Deadly Panic?”  
Marcus nodded, “That's it. It's perfect for just getting a cup of coffee.”  
Earl said, “I'll meet you there, then. Tuesday at four.”  
Sure enough, the storm passed as quickly as it had come. Earl awkwardly stuck out his hand, then put it back in his coat pocket. He turned and walked off, avoiding exceptionally deep puddles of acid.

* * *

_“Listeners, here's something strange. You know that storm we had the other day, the downpour of acid rain? Well, it turns out the acid was a well-intended gift from a_ cousin of the Glow Cloud—ALL HAIL—and, after a heated discussion about the limits of corporeal beings, the Acid Cloud—Welcome and Hail—has promised not to drop any more sudden downpours of acid. Isn't that wonderful and so thoughtful, Listeners?  
_“Now, you're probably wondering about how my attempts to get reservations at Tourniquet are going. They're going. At a snail pace._  
_“Here's something else: My childhood friend, Earl Harlan, who, as you know, Listeners, is a sous chef at Tourniquet, said he was too busy to meet me after work. He didn't tell me who he was meeting or where he was going, so he might just be going on a camping trip. Alone. But enough of my personal life and speculation._  
_“It looks like it's time for . . . the Weather.”_

* * *

Earl sat across the table from Marcus. He felt incredible out of place inside the Deadly Panic. Everything was decorated in dark colours and people talked softly, whispering secrets.  
True to his word, the coffee was the strongest Earl ever had. He had been considering napping to conserve energy for the full moon, but the caffeine concentrated in the coffee kept Earl wide awake.  
“So reservations at Tourniquet,” Marcus said, smiling at Earl.  
“Martin playing gatekeeper again?” Earl asked. “The guy worked for the Afterlife Agency for seven months and now--”  
Marcus chuckled and asked, “Would it be too much to ask for you to cook for me? Like, a private thing.”  
Earl swallowed. He hadn't been flirted with in a long time, but there was no mistaking Marcus' tone.  
“Probably not this week,” Earl told him. “I have, well, personal stuff.”  
“I totally understand,” Marcus said, putting a hand over Earl's. “Full moons are, like, the busiest time.”  
Earl panicked silently for a moment. Did Marcus know? Was Marcus a werewolf too?  
“Like, there are so many rituals for ensuring a business stays strong.”  
Earl sighed, not realizing he had been holding his breath. “Yeah. Commerce rituals. It's hard to keep Tourniquet free of competition.”  
Marcus laughed, deep and rich and Earl knew he was at least lusting over this man. Earl managed a smile he hoped looked more genuine than it felt.  
“But how about the week after?” Marcus asked. “I'm hopeless in the kitchen and I could use a . . . private tutor.”  
“I suppose I can arrange than,” Earl told him, actually smiling. “It's not too hard.”  
Marcus smiled at him and held his hand. Earl relaxed, enjoying just holding hands with the billionaire.  
Earl checked his watch, the clock on the wall, and muttered, “I have to get home.”  
“Well, Cinderella, are you going to leave me with a human skin to trace back to the elderitch queen?” Marcus teased.  
Earl shook his head, pulling out his wallet. “I have to pick up my kid. Or, at least, I need to get home and make dinner.”  
“You have a kid?” Marcus asked.  
Earl's blood froze. He glanced at Marcus and mumbled, “Yeah.”  
“What's their name?” Marcus asked, head tilted.  
Earl blinked at stared at him. He was interested rather than put off. At least Earl could relax about that.  
“Kennedy,” Earl answered.  
“I can pay for things,” Marcus assured him.  
“No, I'd rather pay,” Earl told him.  
“We'll split the bill, then,” Marcus said, waving for the check.  
A man in a white shirt—who Marcus and Earl pointedly ignored—laid the bill down on their table and scurried away, hissing something unknowable.  
Earl pulled out his wallet and set what he owed down. Marcus, with a dark-lipped and platinum smile, pulled out a thin plastic card.  
“You go be the great dad you are,” Marcus told him.  
“I'm so sorry,” Earl added. He glanced at Marcus, who nodded, dreadlocks swaying with the motion. Earl darted off with the billionaire's permission, sighing softly.  
Marcus sipped his coffee, strong and sweet, and watched Earl through the window. He really was handsome, the billionaire decided.

* * *

“And the spiderwolves were hardly venomous!” Kennedy said, kicking their legs as they sat in a kitchen chair.  
“That sounds exciting,” Earl said over his shoulder, busy at the stove. “Spiderwolves usually hibernate during the summer.”  
“This one had a whole litter!” Kennedy told him, grinning. “And they only growled at Jenny. He's kind of a jerk.”  
“Why is that?” Earl asked, smiling in spite of himself.  
“Because he calls you a mutt sometimes,” Kennedy said softly, staring at the tablecloth.  
Earl sighed and turned off the stove. He sat next to Kennedy, watching his child. Then he put a hand on his shoulder.  
“Did you get into another fight with Jenny?” Earl asked.  
Kennedy nodded. “'s how I got my Fighting Tooth and Nail Badge.”  
Earl sighed and ruffled Kennedy's dark hair. “Well, Jenny doesn't understand. A lot of people don't, Kenn.”  
“Why not, Dad?” Kennedy asked, staring up at Earl with the simple curiosity of childhood.  
“It's a long story,” Earl told them. “But don't fight any more kids over it. Or adults.”  
“Okay,” Kennedy sighed. They stared down at the tablecloth again, face screwed up with a question. “Dad?”  
“Yeah, Kenn?”  
“Tyler scribbled onto his stone tablet that his mom, the red-headed one, saw you and Mister Marcus Vanston getting coffee.”  
“Yeah,” Earl admitted. “We got some coffee today and talked about business stuff.”  
“Oh.” Kennedy sighed and looked disappointed.  
Earl chuckled, “Were you hoping he would whisk us away?”  
“Yeah,” Kennedy admitted. “Tyler's mom said you smiled a lot.”  
“Oh.” How could Earl deny that? Marcus did make him feel at ease and the billionaire was incredibly sociable.  
“Maybe you can make him dinner and he'll fall in love with you and I can have two dads,” Kennedy suggested with a shrug.  
“It's not that simple, Kennedy.”  
“Can you call him? You should call him.”  
“Kennedy, I'll tell you what,” Earl said, cutting them off. “We'll sit down to a nice dinner and you'll take a bath and we'll stop worrying.”  
“Okay,” Kennedy sighed. “Spiderwolves slobber a lot.”  
“Yeah they do,” Earl agreed, smiling at Kennedy.

* * *

“Hey, Jake?”  
The personal assistant looked over at his employer without stopping the report he was typing. With Marcus Vanston as an employer, touch-typing was a necessity.  
Jake replied, “Yes, sir?”  
“What would be a good place for a date?”  
“Sir?”  
“I want to make sure the place is nice, but not overly ritzy. I don't want to come on too strong,” Marcus said, shrugging and glancing down ever so slightly.  
“You . . . A date, sir?”  
“With Earl Harlan, yeah.”  
Jake sighed as he reached the end of his report. “Why not go out for ice cream. White Sands has something along the lines of forty-two flavours.”  
“Do you think--”  
“I do think he'd enjoy it,” Jake said, sending the report to one of many men in dark suits who would file it with only mild anxiety over the numbers and liberal use of capital letters. “Earl Harlan doesn't seem the time to go out for dinner.”  
“Yeah,” Marcus agreed. “I took him out for coffee.”  
“And here you are, before the sun has even set,” Jake said, raising a brow.  
Marcus sighed and rolled his eyes. “I like him, Jake. I really do. I want to do this right. Earl's . . . He's something special.”  
Jake turned, pulled up an email, nodded, and replied, “He certainly is, sir.”  
“I mean, he's just so . . . He's like . . . I can't even describe it.”  
“Sir,” Jake interupted.”  
“I mean, his smile is crooked in just . . . the most charming way.”  
“Sir,” Jake repeated with a little more urgency.  
“And when he laughs . . .” Marcus sighed, smiling and staring at a notepad covered in Jake's concise, neat print. He ran a finger over a line without reading it.  
“What time should your mother come over for tea? I can have Hamilton set everything out,” Jake sighed.  
Marcus paled. “She's out of her grave again?”  
“Yes, sir,” Jake told him. “She's in quite a fit, sir. She heard you've been spotted going for coffee with . . .” Jake shrugged, avoiding the word on his lips. “With Earl Harlan.”  
“Oh shit.”  
“Indeed.”  
“You can't call her off? Tell her I'm in a meeting for about, oh, forever?” Marcus asked, cringing and curling up into himself.  
Jake began typing. An aggressive ding sounded and Jake answered, “No, sir. She says as your mother, she takes precedence over any meetings.”  
Marcus sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. “Have Hamilton set up the sitting room. I'll . . . I'll probably need a hot bath after sitting with her.”  
“Of course, sir,” Jake said, nodding. “I'll have Helen set up everything.”  
“Even the rum?”  
“Especially the rum,” Jake assured him. “But, sir?”  
Marcus hummed, staring at Jake.  
“I would arrange a date for the day after tomorrow,” Jake advised. “I doubt going on a date with a hangover would be subtle.”  
Marcus sighed, “You're so right, Jake. You're literally a lifesaver.”  
Jake shrugged, turning back to the screen in front of him. “I do my best, sir.”

* * *

Marcus knocked on the door, a box of Big Rico's balanced on his left arm. The warmth helped soothe him, mostly by whispering soft encouragements.  
Earl opened the door and narrowed his eyes. “Marcus?”  
“I thought I could bring something over and we could have a night in,” Marcus explained, shrugging. “I've . . . I'd prefer to spend some more time with you.”  
“Well . . . alright,” Earl said, moving to let Marcus in. He accepted the box of pizza and asked, “What did you get?”  
“Pepperoni and void olives,” Marcus said. “I can . . . If it's not your thi--”  
“It's my favourite,” Earl said. “Kenn's too.”  
Marcus chuckled a bit and asked, “Have you checked your stone tablet of fate? Are we meant to be together?”  
Earl shrugged. “Might as well be.”  
Marcus chuckled and glanced up at light footsteps fluttering down the stairs. He smiled at the child with the completely black eyes. Kennedy drew back, tilting their head.  
“This is Kennedy,' Earl introduced. He darted into the kitchen, leaving Kennedy and Marcus alone in the foyer.  
“You made my dad smile,” Kennedy pointed out, sitting on the step and crossing their legs.   
“I guess I did,” Marcus admitted, staring after Earl.  
“I like your hair,” Kennedy said, nodding at Earl.   
Marcus chuckled, “I'm glad you like my dreadlocks.”  
Kennedy nodded, “The only people I know with dreadlocks are you, and you seem totally cool.”  
“I can only try,” Marcus said, shrugging.  
“Are you going to date my dad?” Kennedy asked, crossing their arms.  
Marcus swallowed. This kid looked pretty tough and Marcus hadn't given anything long-term much thought. He nodded and admitted, “Yeah. He's pretty cool.”  
“Just don't kiss him in front of me,” Kennedy said, wrinkling their nose. “Adults always get all mushy and gross.”  
Marcus chuckled and told Kennedy, “Duly noted.”  
Kennedy nodded, uncurling and stepping down the last few stairs. They squinted up at Marcus and said, “You're really tall, Mister Marcus Vanston.”  
“Oh, just call me Marcus, kiddo,” Marcus told them, smiling. “And if you use your bloodstones, you might get this tall.”  
Kennedy narrowed their eyes and smirked. “Even if I don't get that tall, you better be nice to my dad.”  
“I didn't plan on being mean,” Marcus replied.  
Kennedy nodded. “Good.” They brushed past him and scurried into the kitchen a moment before Earl called them for dinner.


	2. Dinner Dates are Scandalizing

Earl sighed, adjusting the position of the silverware for the twentieth time. He had to make sure this date was perfect.  
Something about Marcus made Earl relax. Maybe it was his smile. It could've been his laugh. His relaxed position on most things—even Earl's rule about wearing pants—helped Earl relax in turn.  
And when he set the glasses just so, the table looked perfect.  
A knock at the door made Earl pause his obsessing over making sure things were perfect. Earl left the dining room and answered the door.  
Marcus slouched, arms folded in the carefully guarded and casual way he usually did. He looked annoyed and exhausted.  
“Hey,” he mumbled.  
“Come on in,” Earl told him. “Something wrong?”  
Marcus shook his head. “Nah.”  
“Alright,” Earl answered, not entirely convinced. It must take a lot to unnerve the man who could buy the entire town of Night Vale twice over and still have enough for a private island. “Well, dinner's ready.”  
Earl turned and stepped into the kitchen, making sure things were still just warm. Marcus sat at the table, watching him.  
“Hey, Earl,” Marcus said, head resting on his fist.  
Earl hummed in reply.  
“You know what I like about you?”  
Earl turned his head and asked over his shoulder, “What's that?”  
“You make a place feel like home,” Marcus said with a sage tilt of his head.  
“You think so?” Earl asked, starting to serve their dinner.  
“I know so.”

* * *

Dinner passed without incident and Earl cleaned up the dishes. They sat around, sipping coffee and Marcus stared at Earl.  
“Earl?”  
He looked over at Marcus, raising a brow.  
“I, well, I'm not trying to be shallow or anything.” Marcus rubbed the back of his neck, staring down into his cup of coffee. “But, like, how far would you go? I just want to know your boundaries.”  
Earl chuckled and asked, “Hoping to get lucky?”  
“Luck isn't real,” Marcus said quickly. “But I do want to go somewhere with this . . . relationship? Relationship.”  
Earl reached over, taking Marcus' hand. “I was going to bring that up, actually.”  
Marcus' eyes widened and he swallowed. A soft “oh” escaped his mouth and Earl bit his lip.  
“I don't think I'm what you're expecting,” Earl admitted, keeping eye contact with Marcus.  
“But you're amazing—”  
“Let me finish,” Earl begged. When Marcus nodded, he continued. “Y'know how people's stone tablets sometimes have a different name on them?”  
“Oh,” Marcus said, nodding. “How far have you gone with the whole thing, then?”  
“You don't mind?” Earl asked.  
Marcus shook his head. “You're still you.”  
Earl relaxed, but only slightly. He fought to keep his voice even. “Thank you, Marcus.”  
Marcus cupped his cheek and gently pulled Earl forward, leaning in and kissing him. For a moment, Earl noted how soft Marcus was, how wonderful he smelled.  
Marcus let him go and asked softly, “How far did you go through with things.”  
“Not too far,” Earl said, staring at him. “Just hormones for now.”  
“I don't mind one bit,” Marcus murmured.  
Earl leaned in and kissed him, far more sloppy than Marcus had been.  
“Let's go to bed,” Earl mumbled, breath hot against Marcus' lips.

* * *

In the end, going “to bed” ended up in half-undressing and cuddling together. Marcus rested his head on Earl's chest, which Earl hadn't actually minded.  
Marcus laughed, something deep and rich.  
“What is it?” Earl asked.  
“You want to know what had me in such a bad mood earlier?” Marcus asked, tracing out a nonsense constellation on Earl's skin.  
Earl hummed, watching him.  
“My mother, oh Void,” Marcus sighed. “She's a real banshee. Screaming all the time about reproducing, like that's all I'm good for.”  
Pulling Marcus closer, Earl pursed his lips. “But you're so much more than that.”  
Marcus shrugged. “Maybe. I dunno. I don't really like women.”  
“I've had some bad experiences with girls, but I don't mind,” Earl shrugged.  
Marcus looked up, interested. “What's the worst experience you've ever had.”  
“Back before I knew binders were a thing,” Earl began, “I was all flannel and short hair. So this really attractive lipstick lesbian picked me up. It was incredibly awkward to tell her I don't exactly enjoy her type of fun.”  
“So what happened?”  
“We got coffee and I haven't seen her since?”  
“Casualty or?”  
“Dunno,” Earl admitted. “I feel sort of bad for her, if she is. She had a pretty good head on her shoulders.”  
Marcus chuckled and kissed Earl's jawline.  
“What's your worst experience?” Earl asked.  
He felt Marcus tense and he looked up. “Girls or in general?”  
“Whatever you're comfortable with,” Earl assured him, running fingers down his spine.  
Marcus took a few deep breaths and admitted, “My mother set me up when I was sixteen with an Outsider girl. I mean, she was pretty but I don't like girls. And that was after . . . After I got really sick, so I didn't want to see anyone at all.”  
“And?”  
“She got struck by lightning and had to file paperwork to stay in Night Vale. She spent, I heard, five months with an extra pair of right arms,” Marcus said, chuckling. “My mother threw a fit, but I didn't summon any lightning.”  
Earl chuckled and rubbed his back. “That's . . . That's so terrible.”  
Marcus nodded, “It was a nightmare.”  
There was a long silence and Marcus leaned up, kissing the corner of Earl's mouth.  
“So how are you and Cecil?” Marcus asked. “Don't you two have history.”  
Earl explained, “We were friends. Cecil thinks friendship is having someone to pick him up when life hands him a fist to the gut.”  
Marcus nodded, “You never dated?”  
“No,” Earl said. “We never dated. Cecil just . . . He was irresponsible and he still can be. He constantly needs someone to be there to clean up after him.”  
“I bet he's a real man-eater,” Marcus teased.  
“Oh, he can be,” Earl replied. “I'm alright with polyamory, I'm alright with having multiple partners for casual sex. I'm not okay with making them think you're the world and then dropping them like a concrete coffin.”  
Marcus raised a brow.  
Earl nodded, “And I hope he grew up. Life got weird for me. Nineteen forever and then suddenly mature, with a house and kid.”  
“Where is Kennedy?” Marcus asked.  
“There's a scout thing tonight,” Earl answered, relaxing. “I put them in Boy Scouts because I trust it.”  
“What's wrong with Girl Scouts?” Marcus asked.  
“Sure, learning offensive techniques for over-throwing a massive army sounds nice, but there needs to be people on the defensive too,” Earl explained. “Also, Kennedy's too shy to go around selling cookies.”  
“Kennedy? Shy?” Marcus asked, grinning.  
“Introverted. Nothing wrong with it.”  
“I think they're pretty cool. Adopted?” Marcus asked. “Or is there someone else--”  
“Adopted,” Earl said, tone indicating it was a closed topic for now. “It's a long story.”  
Marcus nodded and rested his head on Earl's chest. After a few quiet moments, he fell asleep. Earl smiled at him and let himself slip into sleep.

* * *

_“Here's something new, Listeners._  
_“I saw Marcus Vansten leaving the house of my childhood friend, Earl Harlan. I went over to ask Earl about his cooking segment—which has become incredibly popular—and there was Night Vale's own billionaire, looking scandalized._  
_“But that's just gossip._  
_“ . . . Studio Management has handed me a paper saying, oh. Oh._  
_“I have to quit gossiping, Listeners._  
_“So, I take you now to the Weather.”_


	3. You Didn't Mention You Had a Dog

Earl made sure the popcorn was ready and decidedly not haunted. He poured the bag's contents into a bowl and, after some consideration, popped another bag.  
Earl got out a thick quilt, setting it on the couch in case they decided to cuddle. Also, there were runes embroidered into the fabric, so Earl wouldn't have to worry about them being cold.  
He turned on the television and scrolled though Netflix, pulling up a few movies, werewolf movies. He scowled and skipped _What to do When Your Spouse is a Lycanthrope._ That one, which Earl had watched half-way through once and refused to finish watching, was both offensive and tacky. He settled on _Day Tripper Dog,_ which was a really good movie and Earl approved of the werewolf representation.  
A knock at the door almost made Earl jump. He noticed his palms were sweating, but he opened the door.  
Rather than Marcus lounging in front of the door, Cecil Gershwin Palmer was practically giddy with excitement. Cecil wrapped his arms around Earl, hugging him tightly.  
“Oh, Early, we haven't talked in forever!”  
Earl pried Cecil off and raised a brow. “Did you need something, Cecil?”  
“Oh, I got lonely waiting around, so I decided to come over,” Cecil explained.  
Earl closed the door and watched Cecil stare around at things. The Voice ghosted over to a frame, pressing a finger to the glass. Inside, was a dog collar with one tag that read “Spektor.”  
“You kept it?” Cecil asked, spirits temporarily dampened.  
Earl nodded, “It was a gift.”  
“Oh,” Cecil mumbled. “Earl, I'm sorry I was horrible to you.”  
Earl shook his head. “Invisible water under the non-existent bridge, Cecil.”  
“But I was so mean to you, Earl,” Cecil said, taking one of Earl's hands.   
Earl patted his back and nodded. “Cecil, it's ancient history. And probably literally ancient history.”  
Cecil squinted at him and asked, “Are you eager to get me gone, Early?”  
“I do have a date,” Earl explained.   
“Is it with Larry Leroy?” Cecil asked. “Wait, Simone Rigadeau?”  
“What?” Earl asked. “No. Neither.”  
“Is it . . . an elderitch other-being?” Cecil asked. He thought for a moment before he snapped his fingers and pointed at Earl. “Is it Tholgoth? They're pretty decent”  
“No,” Earl sighed. “Nothing like that.”  
“Is it Marcus Vansten?” Cecil asked, smirking.  
“Well, yes,” Earl answered. “But we're happy together, Cecil.”  
“He knows about—?” Cecil gestured to Earl's body and made and hourglass shape.  
“First of all, I am not shaped like an hourglass,” Earl replied. “And, in fact, I did tell him. Last Tuesday. When he came over for dinner.”  
“You're dating him?” Cecil asked. “I bet he spoils you so much.”  
“No. I'm not like that, Cecil.”  
Cecil grinned, “Is he poetic?”  
“He's human.”   
“Well, anyone can tell that with a simple little bloodstone ritual,” Cecil sighed. “But is he a hopeless romantic? A brooding Byron?”  
“He's human, he doesn't mind me being me, and he's going to be here at any moment.”  
“I can bring Carlos over and we can make it a double-date,” Cecil grinned.  
“Or you could let Marcus and I establish our relationship and define it with having no bearing on my friendship with you,” Earl offered.  
“You're so boring, Early.”  
“I prefer to think of it as having a life of my own,” Earl said, staring at Cecil.  
Oblivious, the Voice tapped a fingertip on the glass of the dog collar case. He stared at it intently. “Why'd you keep it, if you hated it so much.”  
Earl shrugged. “Look, Cecil, I'd love to drag out our history, but Marcus is going to be here any moment--”  
A knock on the door turned Earl and Cecil's heads. They glanced at each other and Cecil broke into a grin.  
“You should answer it,” Cecil told him. “Sounds important.”  
Earl glared, intent to throttle Cecil but also not wanting to scare Marcus off. He opened the door and Marcus leaned down, pecking Earl's cheek.  
“Like a sitcom couple,” Cecil said, perching himself on the stairs of the foyer.  
Marcus chuckled as he stepped inside and asked Earl, “Is this a double-date?”  
“No,” Earl answered, turning to give Cecil another look.  
Cecil simply beamed at Marcus and asked, “So you're the one dating Early Bird?”  
Marcus nodded, “I guess so.”  
Earl closed the door and told Marcus, “I had something planed, if we could get some time alone.”  
“Ooh, Early,” Cecil chirped. “How many dates has he taken you on?”  
“That's none of your business,” Earl snapped. “And it's nothing scandalous, Cecil. You can just save your energy for whatever show's caught your eye.”  
“Oh, but, can't I be worried, Early?” Cecil asked, pouting at the ginger. “You're my best friend and I want to make sure you're dating a good guy.”  
Marcus chuckled, “I can promise good. Just not great.”  
“See?” Earl asked.  
“But Early.”  
“Cecil, Marcus and I have a date night planned and I'd really like it if we could have some time alone,” Earl said in the tone reserved for Kennedy's stubborn fits.  
Cecil sighed. “You're so cruel. I suppose I'll have to kidnap you for coffee and talk another time.”  
And with that, Cecil left.  
“I thought he would never leave,” Earl sighed.  
Marcus put an arm around Earl's shoulder and asked, “How long was he here for? Should I hire someone to keep him away from you?”  
“Not that long,” Earl told him. “And please don't. What Cecil wants, he usually gets.”  
“Except you.”  
“Except me,” Earl agreed.  
“So. Date night?” Marcus asked.  
Earl nodded. “I had some personal things to talk to you about.”  
Marcus hummed and Earl squirmed out of his hold, going into the kitchen. He made sure the bowl was properly filled with popcorn and set it on the coffee table.  
“So what's the--” Marcus paused, staring at the movie choice. “I've never seen this one.”  
“Well, it's a pretty good one,” Earl said. “The protagonist is a werewolf.”  
Marcus nodded, sitting on the couch. Earl pressed play and sat next to him. He offered Marcus the quilt and the billionaire pulled Earl close, quilt draped over both of them as they watched the movie.  
During one of Earl's favourite opening scenes (Yes, that's exactly how werewolves react to being on LSD during their transformations.), he glanced up at Marcus. He laughed at the good parts but Earl realized he didn't understand.  
Earl turned and tried to focus on the movie. Parts he knew, he didn't murmur along to. Instead, he nibbled popcorn nervously. He tried to take comfort in the fact that Marcus didn't know and that he could hide it.  
Stubbornly, Earl fought that voice nagging at him to just hide his condition.  
Beside him, Marcus chuckled and enjoyed the movie (as far as he could tell).   
About three-fourths of the way through, he rested his head on Earl's shoulder. He didn't say anything, but Marcus pulled him closer, almost into his lap. Earl felt his throat tighten and he began to count backwards from twenty.  
When the movie ended, Earl felt flesh-eating butterflies laying eggs in his stomach. Marcus kissed his forehead, half-asleep.  
“Marcus?” he asked  
He hummed, letting Earl know he was listening.  
“Do you know why I picked this movie?”  
“Because you like it, right?”  
“Yes, but do you know why I like it?”  
“A movie about drug-using werewolves? What's not to like.”  
Earl sighed and asked him, “What do you think of werewolves?”  
Marcus shrugged. “Never met one, actually. Aren't they all gone now?”  
Earl cringed and admitted, “Well, you have met one.”  
“Who?” Marcus asked, staring at Earl. “Oh shit. Is it Jake?”  
“What? No. I doubt Jake's a werewolf,” Earl answered, assuming Jake to be some business partner or another.   
Marcus sighed in relief. “Oh good. I don't know what I'd do without him for a day or two every month.”  
Earl raised a brow. “You wouldn't mind?”  
“Werewolves can't help it, right?” Marcus theorized. “So, like, they're just acting on instinct. Like land-sharks or fanged moss-balls.”  
Earl chuckled and rested his head on Marcus' chest, the billionaire putting a hand on Earl's back. “We have some control. Werewolves aren't all animal, Marcus.”  
Marcus nodded and told him, “Right? Like, there's something there, but you can't blame a werewolf if they do maul someone.”  
Earl glanced up and saw Marcus still didn't understand. He shut his eyes, sighed and said, “Marcus Vansten, I love the time we've spent together and I'm afflicted with lycanthropy.”  
After a long moment of silence, Earl opened his eyes and found Marcus staring at him. Marcus bit his lip and took his hand off Earl.  
“It's not, like, contagious, right?”  
“Not unless you're viscously mauled during the transformation cycle,” Earl explained. “Or unless it's genetic.”  
Marcus slowly put his hand back on Earl. Satisfied he didn't bite, scratch, howl, or do anything else canine and feral, Marcus relaxed.  
“But you can't help it, right?”  
“Like any other animal, werewolves bite most when cornered. Or starved,” Earl explained.  
“But Kennedy's . . .?” Marcus began.  
Earl explained, “Adopted. Afflicted. Genetics, though.”  
Marcus nodded and asked, “Every month?”  
“Well, I turn on the new moon,” Earl explained. “It's a long-standing custom.”  
“Will you tell me about it?” Marcus asked.  
“Maybe,” Earl admitted. “I'm still learning.”  
Marcus nodded and told him, “That's pretty incredible.”  
Earl shrugged. “History favours the scholar.”  
They lay comfortable entwined on the couch, quilt draped over them. Earl glanced up and found Marcus snoring softly. After kissing his jaw, Earl fell asleep, head on his chest and listening to the throb of his heart.

* * *

 _“Now, I know the sun engulfing the Earth and the destruction of all we love seems like a big deal, but I have some news. I promised no more gossip, but this, Listeners, is something very serious. My childhood best friend, Earl Harlan, is totally dating Marcus Vansten. Now, I think they'd make a very good pair._  
_“So, if you see them, you should congratulate them on their relationship, however boring and normal it may be. I think they've been on less than five dates, actually._  
_“ . . . Oh._  
_“Apparently, urging people to give Earl and Marcus congratulations is gossip, as Intern Maureen has violently informed me from her booth. But, Listeners, you should totally tell them if you see them. And give them date night ideas._  
_“But I take you now, to the Weather.”_

* * *

Earl, who had been taking care of some of the prep work for Tourniquet’s lunch rush. When he heard Cecil's broadcast, he stiffened.  
The head chef glanced over and chuckled. “Congrats on landing a big fish, Harlan.”  
“Wish me more luck after I strangle him, Alec,” Earl said, nodding at the radio. “He can't keep himself out of everyone else's business.” He chopped the carrots with more intensity, taking a small delight in their squirming and wailing.  
“Don't strangle the Voice, Harlan,” Alec said, four arms working furiously stirring and chopping. “You'd get put down that mineshaft.”  
Earl glanced up at Alec and told him, “it would be worth it if Cecil learnt how to stay out of people's personal lives.  
Earl and Alec listened to the Weather silently. Even the carrots were quiet, but that might have been from Earl's icy tone.  
Once the Weather ended, Earl went back to chopping. It actually ended up being very therapeutic to hear their wails.  
“I'll have Janine drop off a pie for the two of you,” Alec said, focused on the first of the lunch rush orders. “Apple pie. The good stuff.”  
“Thank you, but no thanks,” Earl said.

* * *

Jake glanced at the radio, entering data without glancing up. Marcus grinned and turned it up a bit.  
“He's so nice,” Marcus said.  
“Sir, I believe nosing his way into everyone else's business, especially their personal lives, is not nice,” Jake said, turning to schedule something in Marcus' planner.   
“But he cares about Earl,” Marcus pointed out.  
“And I bet he put you through a whole test to ensure Earl and yourself are compatible.”  
“Not quite,” Marcus said, shrugging and turning the radio back down once the Weather came on.  
They sat in silence for a while, Jake even pausing his key-pecking to listen. Once the Weather ended, Jake turned back to his screen, entering data again.  
“I think he's nice,” Marcus said, smiling.   
“You, sir, are a terrible judge of character,” Jake replied. “No offence.”  
Marcus didn't notice and asked, “What do you think would make a good date? I really want to spoil Earl.”  
“I'd advise the park, if you want to flaunt things,” Jake said. “Avoid Riverside Drive and don't talk back to the hydrangeas.”  
Marcus smiled and said, “That would be perfect, Jake. You're a genius.”  
“Not quite,” Jake said. “Just your personal assistant. Shall I get Hamilton to pack a picnic?”  
“Oh, yes,” Marcus said, smiling.  
“A picnic it is,” Jake said, standing and stretching. “Just don't embarrass Earl too much.”  
“I won't,” Marcus assured Jake as the personal assistant stepped out of the office.  
“Oh, and he might want to bury a body. Shall I get a shovel, sir?”  
“I don't think it'll be necessary,” Marcus said, shaking his head.  
“Very well, sir.”

* * *

Earl sighed, sitting with Marcus on the grass, far away from the hydrangeas and the crowd the plants had ensnared.  
“Ten congratulations, four golems as 'moving in together' gifts, two good luck charms, and a package of condoms,” Earl muttered.   
“The condoms being from?” Marcus asked.  
“Old Woman Josie, if you can believe it,” Earl answered.  
Marcus made a face and asked, “Why?”  
Earl reached into his coat and pulled out a card, handing it to Marcus. The billionaire read it and felt his face heat up.  
“It's not transmitted--”  
“I know,” Earl said.  
Marcus handed back the card and Earl slid it back into his coat.  
“I got an apple pie from someone named Janine,” Marcus said. “And a few other baked goods.”  
“Oh Void,” Earl said, covering his face with his hands. “They're marking you.”  
Marcus raised a brow. “How? Why?”  
“Spouses always bake things to invite someone's mate into their pack,” Earl explained.   
“So they trust me?” Marcus asked, grinning.  
“Only slightly.”  
“Oh.”  
They sat in silence for a bit. The hydrangeas shrieked words of temptation, but Marcus and Earl ignored them. Marcus reached over and held Earl's hand.  
“Would you mind if we stopped at the hardware store on the way back?” Earl asked.  
“Not at all,” Marcus said. “Why?”  
“I'm going to confront Cecil with all these so-called gifts, strangle him, and bury him off in the desert where no one will ever find his body,” Earl answered.  
“That's . . . harsh.”  
Earl glared at Marcus. “You read the card. I got a few calls like that, congratulating me during my break.”  
“Oh.”  
“So we need to make that stop.”  
“Or you could just talk to him.”  
“Alright, but not with you with me,” Earl said. “He'd only read the card, laugh, and suggest it further.”  
Marcus cringed. “I think I'd like to stay out of that, yeah.”  
“Smart,” Earl told him. “But I might mildly throttle him.”  
“Just don't kill him,” Marcus said.  
Earl sighed and said, “I suppose I can avoid killing him.”  
Marcus rested his head on Earl's shoulder. “Thank you. Besides, I think Carlos, the scientist, would get mad if we buried Cecil in the desert.”


	4. Family Dinners

Earl sat across from Cecil, sighing softly. He sipped his soda, glancing out the window at his truck.  
“Do you have somewhere to be?” Cecil asked, smirking a bit.  
Earl shrugged. “I have places I'd rather be.”  
“Oh. Is it close to--”  
“No,” Earl told him. “Not yet. New moon. You know that, Ceec.”  
Cecil grinned at him, sipping his coffee.  
“What?”  
Cecil set the mug down, one finger tracing the rim of the mug. “You haven't called me that in a while.”  
Earl was tempted to roll his eyes. “Old habits die hard.”  
“Yes, but that's the nickname you use. Only you.”  
“No one else called you that?” Earl asked, raising a brow.  
“Nope.”  
“Not even your scientist?”  
“He's not my scientist,” Cecil explained. “It's not like what you and Marcus have.  
“You seem to think we have some magical relationship,” Earl scoffed. “You should really stick to your own love life, Ceec.”  
“Excuse me for being worried about you,” Cecil told him. “You're raising a kid and dating a billionaire, Earl.”  
“Doesn't mean everything's wonderful and magically better,” Earl replied. “Making out with Marcus Vansten doesn't change what I am.”  
“And he shouldn't want you to change for him,” Cecil said with a nod he thought was sage.   
Earl replied, “He doesn't want me to change.”  
“Oh.”  
“He's fine with me. All of me,” Earl added.  
“Even the parts that--”  
“Even the parts I'm missing,” Earl said, nodding slowly.  
“He doesn't feel lied to?” Cecil asked. “There's no arguing about it?”  
“Not really,” Earl admitted. “Marcus Vansten isn't as shallow as people make him out to be.”  
Cecil sipped his coffee and asked, “So has he bought you anything flashy? Something to show you off as his.”  
“No,” Earl answered. He stirred his straw around the cup of soda a few times before sipping it. “I wouldn't even accept anything he bought me.”  
“But, Early,” Cecil sighed. “What's the point of dating the richest man in town if it's not to be spoiled?”  
“The point is to find someone who accepts me in spite of economic status, gender identity, or lycanthropic tendencies,” Earl answered. “We support each other and we're happy to date.”  
“So have you two . . .?” Cecil gave Earl a wink, making the ginger sigh.  
“No, but we've talked about it,” Earl said. “A little.”  
“You're not even making a scandal?” Cecil asked. “What's the point of dating someone famous, then?”  
“To support each other in spite of previous bad experiences with romance,” Earl answered. “You act like scandal and spoiling is all you know.”  
He paused and watched Cecil wink over his coffee mug.  
“Right,” Earl sighed. “I forgot being the Voice got you anything you wanted with minimal begging or understanding of the word no.”  
“I simply know what I want,” Cecil told him.  
“All you want is to be pleased with yourself all the time, showered with affection and pleasure,” Earl pointed out.  
Cecil laughed and told him, “I'm glad you remembered, Early.”  
“I hope you've curbed some of your bad appetites,” Earl sighed. “I doubt your new Outsider fling would appreciate coming home to you chasing white rabbits.”  
“Oh, Early,” Cecil told him, reaching over and patting his hand. “Of course I've curbed some things.”  
“Like?”  
“Well, I've stopped the more dark appetites,” Cecil told him. “And I only smoke three packs a day.”  
“You're going to get yourself killed some day,” Earl sighed.  
“I'd rather face death with a grin, Early. It's only the end when the story's about you,” Cecil pointed out.  
“Right. Well, I should be going.”  
“Got a hot date?” Cecil teased.  
“I do, in fact. A single date. With Marcus,” Earl answered.   
Cecil smiled as Earl laid out a few bills on the table. “You have fun. And I mean fun.”  
Earl sighed and left the diner. He got into his truck and sat there for a moment. He had to admit to himself he was torn between wanting to do everything with Marcus and not wanting to rush into things.  
On the drive home, he took the longer route and not just because of the mammoths crowing down Iris Avenue.

* * *

When Earl got home, there was a discreet box on the doorstep. With a nod and as much courage as he could muster, he picked it up and took it inside, closing the door with his elbow.  
“Kennedy?”  
“Upstairs, Dad!” Kennedy called.   
“Doing your homework?”  
“Yeah,” Kennedy answered.  
Earl smiled and took the package into the kitchen, setting it on the counter. He pulled out his pocket knife, driving the obsidian blade into the tape and opening the box.  
Inside were vials, instructions written on them. Earl usually glanced at them, having most of the dosages memorized. He pulled those out, lining them up on the counter like bloodstone-summoned soldiers. Next came the packaged needles, each wrapped and single-use only. Earl was meticulous about lining those up as neatly as the vials.  
And then someone knocked on the door.  
Earl jumped and was torn between hiding everything or opening the door. He settled on the latter. If it was anther tanuki salesman, Earl could just close the door.  
When he opened it, Marcus Vansten smiled at him.  
“I dunno if you were going to make something tonight,” Marcus asked. “But I thought I'd treat you and Kennedy. How's the kiddo feel about Chinese food?”  
Earl sighed and let him in. He closed the door behind Marcus.  
“Hey, kiddo!” Marcus called. “I brought dinner so your dad wouldn't have to cook. It's Chinese food.”  
Kennedy skidded to a halt at the top of the stairs. “Really, Mister Vansten?”  
Marcus held up a bag and Kennedy's eyes widened.  
“You should totally marry my dad,” Kennedy told him.   
“Kennedy,” Earl warned as Marcus began laughing.  
“But he's so cool and he's totally nice to you!” Kennedy pointed out, hurrying down the steps.  
“Kennedy, it's not polite to tell people who they should marry,” Earl told them.  
Kennedy sighed and said, “I guess not.”  
“Thank you,” Earl said.  
“But you two are really lovey-dovey like Janice's parents,” they added, smirking.  
Marcus pursed his lips and stared at Earl. “I think I wouldn't mind being married to you.”  
Earl rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen, getting the table set for dinner.   
“You should totally marry my dad, though,” Kennedy told Marcus. “Then he wouldn't have to try and set up all these dates.”  
“I'd have to follow house rules,” Marcus pointed out. “Like wearing clothes when I come over.”  
“I don't think my dad would mind too much,” Kennedy said, shrugging. “He's pretty laid-back about bending rules.”  
Marcus smirked and asked, “You know from experience?”  
“Yeah, but don't tell him,” Kennedy told him. “He gets pretty worried about me.”  
Marcus set the food on the table and knelt down. “I'm sure he's worried because he cares a lot about you. You're special to him.”  
Kennedy looked down. “I guess so.”  
Marcus patted their shoulder gently. “How good are you with chopsticks?”  
“So good!” Kennedy said, perking up. “Dad gets frustrated because I'm so good with them.”  
Marcus chuckled and said, “You'll have to show me.”

* * *

Dinner was without incident. Marcus and Kennedy both used chopsticks, to Earl's slight annoyance. They both boasted about their skill and Earl had to be their reluctant referee.  
In the end, Kennedy was quicker and more neat with chopsticks than Marcus, who had congratulated the Chopstick Champ.  
“Do you think there's a Scout patch for chopsticks?” Marcus teased Earl.  
“If there was, I've never earned it,” Earl replied, staring at Marcus.  
“Well, I'm proud,” Marcus said, grinning at Kennedy. “Jake and I have late-night contests all the time and he's never beaten me.”  
Kennedy smiled and asked Earl, “Could we invite Jake to dinner too?”  
Earl raised a brow and asked Marcus, “I could cook one night and we could invite him.”  
“And Jake would love it,” Marcus assured him, smiling at Earl, then at Kennedy. “He needs to get out more. He's practically one with his office.”  
Kennedy giggled and Earl sighed. Marcus grinned and reached over, holding Earl's hand.  
“Are you two going to start kissing and stuff?”  
Marcus smiled at Kennedy and said, “I dunno. Maybe.”  
“Totally gross,” Kennedy said, grinning and wrinkling their nose up. “You two are so like Janice's parents.”  
Earl sighed and leaned over, kissing the corner of Marcus' mouth. He asked Kennedy, “Would you help me clean up, please?”  
“Sure, Dad,” Kennedy said. “Then you and Dad Vansten can get back to kissing and mushy stuff.”  
Marcus just about choked on his glass of water.

* * *

Once Kennedy was tucked in, Earl and Marcus went to bed together.  
Earl initiated the kissing, having to lean up to kiss Marcus properly. Marcus was more than glad to reciprocate, leaning down and putting his arms around Earl. When Earl began unbuttoning Marcus' shirt, the latter began biting his lip.  
“Earl.”  
Earl hummed in reply, looking up at him.  
“I don't want to go too far,” he admitted.  
Earl nodded and said, “Just tell me when.”  
Marcus kissed his temple and they continued. Once Marcus' shirt was unbuttoned and Earl began pulling it off him, Marcus helped Earl with his own shirt, staring at the binder underneath.  
“You haven't--?” Marcus began.  
“Not yet,” Earl told him.  
Marcus traced the seams and asked, “May I?”  
“If you want,” Earl said, turning to show Marcus how to take it off. Marcus did so slowly, like unwrapping a present.  
“Oh,” Marcus breathed once Earl turned back around.  
Earl nodded, “I've never been too busty.”  
Marcus began to laugh, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.  
“What's so funny?” Earl asked.  
“Busty,” Marcus repeated, leaning down to kiss Earl's jawline. “I never thought you would use that word.”  
Earl rolled his eyes and leaned up, kissing him. “You're silly.”  
“One of us has to have a sense of humour,” Marcus teased, kissing his neck.  
Earl sighed, relaxing at the light kisses. “I have a sense of humour.”  
“I've yet to see it,” Marcus said.  
Earl sighed, grabbing Marcus' hips and pulling him close. He took off his belt and said, “Well, maybe it's because I haven't found a funny joke of yours.”  
Marcus watched Earl slowly pull his belt off before taking his wrists. “I don't want to go any further than this,” he murmured.  
Earl nodded, putting his belt aside. “I understand.” He didn't, but he would respect him. Marcus seemed a little startled.  
“Thank you.”  
“Let's get some rest,” Earl told him, taking his hand and guiding him to bed.  
Earl laid back, Marcus resting with his head on his chest. He stared up at Earl, kissing his cheek.  
“I'm sorry we haven't gone farther than this,” Marcus whispered, tracing some of the scars and freckles on Earl's abdomen.  
Earl rubbed Marcus' back and replied, “Don't worry about it. I'd rather have you comfortable.”  
Marcus nodded, staring at a particular constellation on Earl's skin. “Thank you. I . . . I'll open up about it, if you want.”  
Earl shook his head. “Not unless you want to.”  
“Thank you,” Marcus repeated.

* * *

_“Refrain from approaching the vines by Radon Canyon, Listeners. Like, those thorns are seriously huge and venomous. My amazing boyfriend Carlos, the scientist, theorized that it might be from some of the materials in Radon Canyon. He's looking into it._  
_“Oh, speaking of boyfriends, Earl Harlan and I went out for coffee yesterday. He's totally happy with Marcus Vansten and they are so happy together._  
_“But that's gossip and Intern Maureen is glaring at me and holding up a sign that says . . . Oh._  
_“She's telling me to update you about the vines, which have started sprouting in the break room and that she is going to fight._  
_“So, while we try to survive these thorned, venomous, rude vines, let me take you, Listeners, to the Weather.”_


	5. New Moon? What Moon?

Earl Harlan was content. Marcus Vansten, who was currently locking arms with him as they walked home after a dinner date, was absolutely perfect. He was handsome, but humble. Earl felt accepted and safe next to him.  
And then Marcus let go of his arm and ran ahead, leaving Earl behind.   
“Earl, it's a Maddening Terrier. Can we keep it?” Marcus asked, kneeling down and scooping the tiny dog up, scratching it's back and pointedly avoiding its bloodshot eyes.  
“It might belong to someone,” Earl told him. “And I'm not good with dogs. Well, other dogs.”  
“Oh, please?” Marcus begged, scratching the dog's neck. “It doesn't have a collar, poor thing.  
Earl watched as the terrier licked Marcus' cheek. With a sigh, Earl said, “Alright. But if it's a troublemaker, I'm holding you responsible.”   
The little dog in his lap yapped and Earl could feel it's stare. Marcus stood up, chuckling. “I'm sure he won't be any trouble.”  
Earl huffed, “She, Marcus.”  
“How would you know?” Marcus asked, cradling the terrier like a small child.  
“I can smell it,” Earl mumbled. “A werewolf thing.”  
Marcus grinned at him. “That's . . . neat, I guess?”  
“Let's just go home,” Earl told him. “That mongrel's going to need a bath.”  
“She's not a mongrel,” Marcus protested, kissing the dog's head. “She's a pretty little puppy.”  
“She's an old dog,” Earl told him. “Probably with arthritis.”  
“How do you know all this?” Marcus asked, walking next to Earl.  
Earl shrugged. “It's werewolf things. You learn to read dogs.”  
Marcus smiled and said, “You're amazing Earl.”  
“No. I'm a little upset you're such a dog person,” Earl replied.  
“If I wasn't a dog person, I don't think this relationship would ever work,” Marcus said.  
They walked the rest of the way home in silence.

* * *

Earl sighed, carrying the dog up to the bathroom. Marcus decided he was going to buy things for the little terrier, leaving Earl to bathe the dog.   
He sighed and told her, “You're a lucky little dog. You have Marcus Vansten to cuddle you and spoil you.”  
The terrier yapped in response.   
“Now just relax,” Earl mumbled, finding a soap that wouldn't irritate her too much. “Yes, you're a good dog.”  
The terrier held still, shifting when Earl needed to scrub one part of another. She sat in the warm water.  
“Hips?” Earl asked.  
The terrier barked twice.  
“Then we'll keep you warm,” Earl told her, pouring the warm water over the dog. “That should help.”  
The terrier turned her head, tilting it to focus on the sound of Earl's voice. She wagged her tail and barked.  
“No,” Earl told her. “I'm sure I don't know you.”  
She whined and Earl rolled his eyes, getting a towel. He scooped her up, careful with her hips, ad began drying her off. The terrier shook, sending water all over.  
“You're lucky you're a small dog,” Earl told her, reaching into the tub and draining the water.  
The terrier yapped, content to be held and dried by Earl.  
“Taken a shining to her?”  
Earl looked up and found Marcus leaning in the doorway of the bathroom. The billionaire grinned smugly at Earl and the terrier. With a yap, the little dog bounded over to Marcus.  
He scooped her up and asked, “Who's a good girl?”  
The terrier yapped, dragging her tongue along his cheek.  
“So is she a healthy dog?” Marcus asked Earl.  
“I'm not a vet,” Earl said, tossing the towel in the laundry hamper. “She might have bad hips, though.”  
“I heard you talking to her,” Marcus told him, scratching the dog's neck.  
“Oh,” Earl said. “Let's get her fed.”  
“Yeah,” Marcus agreed, smiling at the terrier.

* * *

After two days, the terrier had become a permanent fixture of Earl's home. Marcus seemingly never left, choosing to share a bed with Earl. And as nice as that would have been, having a small dog whining and worming her way between Earl and Marcus was started to grate on the former's nerves.  
“She's probably missed by someone,” Earl said, sipping his morning coffee while the terrier ran circles around Marcus' ankles, yipping.  
Marcus shrugged, “I'll put up posters.”  
Earl watched as the billionaire went through the motions of feeding the small dog. She finished her food and ran toward the back door, barking until Marcus let her out. Once she came back inside, she decided, by nibbling on Marcus' ankle, that it was playtime.  
“Tomorrow night's the new moon,” Earl mentioned, sitting on the couch in the living room and watching Marcus play tug-of-war with the terrier.  
Marcus nodded, the only indication he was listening. The terrier dropped the rope and yapped, bounding into Marcus' lap.  
“What's so special about the new moon?” Marcus asked, scratching behind the little dog's ears.  
Earl coughed awkwardly, staring at Marcus. When Marcus met his stare, he grinned.  
“Is this an open invitation?” he asked, the terrier rolling over for Marcus to rub her belly.  
Earl nodded, “It is. I'd like if you tagged along.”  
Marcus chuckled and told Earl, “I won't run.”  
Earl sighed, relaxing as he sat and watched the terrier snuffle and relax in Marcus' lap.   
“Am I the first you've asked?” Marcus said, grinning at the little dog in his lap. Her bloodshot eyes were closed and she occasionally twitched in her sleep.  
“You are,” Earl answered.  
“I'm flattered, Mister Harlan,” Marcus said, chuckling and staring Earl. “I'm glad we can trust each other.

* * *

After some discussion, Earl agreed to let Marcus' new favourite thing accompany them.  
Marcus smiled, getting into the truck, terrier cradled in the crook of one arm. She yipped before settling into his lap, tail wagging furiously.  
Earl focused on driving, trying not to pay too much attention to the itching beneath his skin. He turned, driving far out enough into the desert to avoid any incidents, but nothing so far as to attract the attention of the Sheriff's Secret Police.  
He stopped the car and reached into the glove box, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.  
“You smoke?” Marcus asked, petting the terrier in his lap.  
“Only is times of crisis,” Earl admitted, lighting his cigarette and getting out of the truck.  
Marcus got out and asked, “Is there anything you do?”  
“I wait,” Earl answered, cigarette perched in his mouth and unbuttoning his shirt.  
Marcus stared, a brow raised.  
“I don't like tearing up all my clothes,” Earl told him, tossing his shirt into the truck. “It gets expensive.”  
Marcus nodded and climbed into the back of the truck, terrier held in his arms. He pet her while Earl continued to strip down, clothes tossed into the cab.  
“Does it hurt?” Marcus asked, keeping his eyes above Earl's shoulders.  
“More than you can imagine,” Earl sighed.   
With a soft groan of pain, he allowed himself to lose his restraints. He stumbled away from the truck, bones snapping into a different form, muscles overextended. A roar tore its way through his throat and he made room for it, air pushed from his lungs.  
Marcus stared as a large rusty-furred creature stumbled back over to him. The terrier barked, bounding out of Marcus' lap and leaping at the creature.  
He turned his head, eyes squeezed shut and cringing in anticipation of the terrier's yelp of pain, whining.  
He opened his eyes and found the little dog wagging her tail at the large creature. It snorted and the terrier barked.  
“Earl?”  
The creature's eyes focused on him, an intelligence deep in those green eyes.  
“Well, I can't say it's flattering, but at least you look alright.”  
The creature grumbled something low. Not words, but more pure displeasure.  
Marcus patted his lap. “Come here, you big beast.”  
After tilting its head, the creature leaned down, terrier picked up in the creature's teeth, carefully and by the scruff of her neck. It leapt into Marcus' lap, setting the terrier down and laying on the billionaire.  
Marcus laughed and scratched between the creature's shoulders. “You're the biggest puppy I've ever seen, Earl.”  
Another displeased snort.  
“Like, I'm going to have to get you a flea collar and everything,” Marcus teased.  
A growl and Marcus stopped his teasing, petting the creature.

* * *

The next day, Earl groaned as he fell into bed. Marcus curled up next to him, rubbing his shoulders.  
“I think I like seeing you with fur and claws,” Marcus said, kissing Earl's shoulder. “But let me drive home next time.”  
Earl sighed, “If you insist. Right now, I just want rest.”  
“And then a warm bath?” Marcus asked.  
“That sounds amazing.”  
Marcus continued to trace patterns into Earl's back, smiling as he silently tried to count the freckles. Earl's breathing slowed and Marcus knew he would probably spend most of the day resting.  
A knock at the door made Marcus frown. As much as he wanted to just cuddle with Earl, someone had to answer the door. Making Earl get up would be criminal.  
Marcus got up and hurried downstairs. He fund the little dog sitting and staring at the door. She wagged her tail, bloodshot eyes not leaving the door.  
“What is it, girl?” Marcus asked, scooping her up before opening the door.  
A hooded figure greeted Marcus. The terrier in his arms wriggled.  
“Can I help you?” Marcus asked.  
The hooded figure held up one of the posters Marcus had put up. Then they pointed—or Marcus assumed they pointed—at the terrier.  
“Oh, I'm totally sorry,” Marcus said, handing the little dog over.  
The hooded figure held the dog. After she barked and licked at the figure, the hooded figure produced a small stone square inscribed with runes.  
“Thanks, I suppose,” Marcus said, staring down at the runes.  
The hooded figure turned and left. After Marcus closed the door, he sighed and set the stone down next to Earl's keys.  
Marcus walked back upstairs, getting into bed beside Earl. He kissed his shoulder, an arm around his waist.  
“Who's that?” Earl mumbled.  
“Dog's owner,” Marcus told him. He buried his face into his shoulder and sniffled.  
“Are you crying?” Earl asked.  
“I want us to get a dog,” Marcus explained.

* * *

_“Well, Listeners, it seems like there's been a lot of lost dogs lately. Like, a lot of dogs wandering around without owners. And they're all breeds like Maddening Terriers and Plague-Fortelling Pugs. Y'know, apartment dogs._  
_“The Sherriff's Secret Police as well as Night Vale's Department of Strange Animal Control advise not feeding the dogs. No matter how much they beg._  
_“In a press release, one Animal Control worker stated 'It's really weird. Like these dogs are owned by really irresponsible people. And if you feed them, they come back like a whole herd of stray cats.'_  
_“So, while we struggle together to avoid the dog's hypnotic powers, let me take you to the Weather.”_


	6. Mother Dearest, Mother Deadest

Marcus came into the kitchen, standing behind Earl. He put his arms around him and asked, “What're you making?”  
Earl gave the sauce in one pot a stir and said, “A recipe that's been a bit of an experiment at work.”  
“I love when you bring work home,” Marcus teased.  
“Don't get any ideas,” Earl warned him. “It's hot and I won't treat any burns.”  
Marcus chuckled, kissing the back of Earl's neck. They stood for a moment, Earl working and Marcus watching.  
“What's with all the affection?” Earl asked, reaching for some of the spices.  
“Where are we at right now?” Marcus asked.  
“The kitchen?” Earl said, giving the sauce a stir.  
“No, I mean . . . romantically,” Marcus said. “Like, would it be too soon to bring you home to my mother?”  
Earl chuckled and told Marcus, “Time is relative and life is short.”  
“Then can I take you to lunch tomorrow?” Marcus asked.  
“I suppose it wouldn't hurt,” Earl said, chewing on his bottom lip. After a few quick stirs, he relaxed a bit. “I think I've got it.”  
Marcus chuckled and kissed the back of his neck. “Love you.”  
He let go, sitting at the table and watching Earl. Uninterrupted, Earl was far more graceful and Marcus couldn't have been happier.

* * *

At some point while Marcus was driving back to the mansion after a lunch date, Earl put a hand on his thigh.  
“I want you,” Earl breathed in his ear. He kissed his neck and Marcus hoped Earl didn't taste his fear.  
He parked and bolted out of the car, helping Earl out with a tense grin. “Let's, um, let's go inside.”  
“Sounds perfect,” Earl said, smiling at Marcus. He kissed his cheek and Marcus began internally screaming.  
Marcus opened the door, hurrying inside as he was pounced by two leopards. Four mouths licked at his face and neck, large paws on his chest and shoulders.  
“Yes, daddy's back,” he said, patting the felines.  
“You have leopards?” Earl asked.  
Marcus nodded, pointing at the one that had gone off to curl up in a sunny spot. “That's Mary.”  
“And the other one?” Earl asked, inching toward the door and giving the hyperactive big cat a way glance.  
“Molly,” Marcus said, chuckling when he saw how much fur had been shed on him. “They're harmless sweethearts.”  
“I'm not a cat person,” Earl said.  
Molly, in spite of Earl's refusal to even look at the cats, brushed up against his legs, throat vibrating as she bumped her heads against him. Earl gave Marcus a pleading look but the billionaire only grinned.  
“She's actually not running around and knocking things over,” Marcus noted in awe.  
Earl sighed, “Please get her away from me, Marcus. I hate cats.”  
Molly made a soft whine and licked Earl's hand, two rough tongues scraping his palm before she bounded over to Marcus, leaping on him.  
Marcus chuckled, scratching her broad shoulders. “Who's a sweetheart?”  
Molly lapped at his face, both tongues working furiously to rub all the skin off his cheek.  
“I think I might go,” Earl said softly.  
Marcus sat up, Molly tilting her heads in opposite directions. “Earl, it's alright. They're mostly trained to stay out of the bedroom.”  
“Well, I suppose just talking would be okay,” Earl sighed.  
Marcus smiled as Mary got up and strolled under Marcus' hand, eyes closed in satisfaction.  
“No, Mary,” he told her, chuckling. “Go get some sun.”  
Mary looked at Marcus before deciding to climb the drapes and perch on the curtain rod.  
“Is she--”  
“Reinforced just for them,” Marcus told Earl, standing up and walking upstairs.   
Earl followed and glanced over his shoulder. Mary bared both sets of teeth at him while Molly paced at the bottom of the steps, a gentleness in her eyes.  
“So you named them--”  
“Yeah,” Marcus said, shrugging. “Call it conceited, but I like names that start with M.”  
Earl raised a brow and Marcus chuckled.  
“There's one name I really like that starts with another letter,” he said softly, taking Earl's hand.  
Earl smiled and asked, “Where did you even find two-headed leopards?”  
“Well, they weren't two-headed leopards at first,” Marcus admitted, shrugging. “They were no-headed leopards. I think they're much more affectionate like this, though.”  
“More than a maddening terrier?”  
“Much more,” Marcus said, smiling at him. He led Earl down a hallway and into a large bedroom. He grinned at the bed, crossing his arms.  
“You need all this space?” Earl asked, amused. “We could completely sprawl out and never touch.”  
Marcus shrugged, “I probably don't need all the space. At least, not to myself.”  
Earl shook his head, leaning up and kissing Marcus. “I hate to tell you, but you are, in fact, a very hopeless romantic. Your pick-up lines are terrible and you have no concept of subtlety.”  
Marcus chuckled and replied, “I don't like subtlety. Too . . . subtle.”  
Earl sighed, closing his eyes and cringing despite the fact that he was shaking with silent laughter. “You are so bad at this.”  
“Maybe you can teach me,” Marcus said, putting his hands on Earl's waist.   
“I think I might like that.”  
“When can we start?”  
Earl hummed, lips pursed in thought as he put his arms around Marcus and looked up at him. “Right now in bed works for me.”  
Marcus bit his lip, looking down and not meeting Earl's gaze. “Earl. I didn't tell you, but I have issues.”  
Earl nodded and asked, “What kind of issues?”  
Marcus opened his mouth, then closed it. He licked his lips and managed weakly, “The sexual kind?”  
Earl leaned up, kissing his cheek. “But what kind? Is it me?”  
“No!” Marcus said quickly, pulling Earl closer. “It's not you at all, Earl.”  
“What is it then?” Earl asked softly, cupping his face. “You can tell me, Marcus. I'm here to support you.”  
“I . . . There was . . . I had some boundaries overstepped,” Marcus told him. “When I was sixteen, not, like, you. You're amazing and supportive and . . .” Marcus was silenced by Earl leaning up and pressing his lips to Marcus'.  
“I'm not going to judge you for something you couldn't control,” Earl told him softly, thumbs tracing Marcus' cheekbones. “You were young and whoever it was hurt you.”  
“You're not mad?” Marcus asked, eyes wide.  
Earl pursed his lips, thinking about it. “I'm mad at whoever did it. I'm not mad at you because it happened.”  
Marcus pulled Earl close, hugging him and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Earl rubbed gentle, slow circles into his back, soothing him.  
“I'm not mad at you,” Earl assured him gently.  
“Thank you,” Marcus murmured.

* * *

Marcus drove Earl home, no longer nervous and his right hand holding Earl's left. He felt better, not having to hide anything. He glanced over and Earl smiled at him.  
As he pulled up in the driveway and parked, Marcus said softly, “I'm glad you're not upset or storming out on me.”  
Earl kissed the corner of his mouth and said, “There's nothing to be upset about, honestly. You were hurt and healing is a process.”  
Marcus nodded and looked down at his lap. “Earl, there's something I want to ask you.”  
Earl sat up a little straighter and stared at Marcus.  
Marcus met his eyes and felt nervous again, like asking him out for coffee the first time. “I want you to meet my mother.”  
Earl opened his mouth and asked in a wavering voice, “Rachel Vansten?”  
Marcus nodded, holding both of Earl's hands in his.  
“She used to spit on me and call me a mongrel,” Earl said softly. “And you want me to meet her?”  
“In spirit, yeah. She can't do any spitting,” Marcus said softly. “At least, not physical spitting.”  
Earl licked his lips and asked, 'How much does this mean to you?”  
“Oh, everything,” Marcus told him. “I understand if you don't want to though. She can be a bit much and--”  
“I'll do it,” Earl said firmly.  
“Oh, great, just avoid—wait,” Marcus said, holding up a hand. “You're actually going to meet her?”  
Earl nodded, “You've done a lot for me and meeting your mother can't be the worst fate there is.”  
“Thank you so much,” Marcus told him. “I'll be there to make sure there's no spitting metaphysical or otherwise.”  
Earl raised a brow and asked, “You think I'd spit at your mother?”  
“No,” Marcus admitted. “Jake might.”  
Earl laughed and Marcus found himself smiling a bit, even though he was completely serious.

* * *

Earl knew two things about Rachel Vansten after one hundred and twenty seconds of being in her metaphysical presence.  
First, she was a banshee. Literally a banshee. When she had moved on, she opted for something better than a common infrequent house guest. The result was an infrequent, usually screeching house guest. And one of the effects was she could only manifest for a short period of time. Usually Tuesdays at four for tea with her son.  
The second thing Earl knew about Rachel Vansten was that she was an unashamed, unapologetic, bigoted, lycanthrope-hating, transphobic, homophobic headache he couldn't wait to be rid of.  
Instead he bit his tongue and glanced over at Marcus, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. Rachel raised one metaphysical and perfect eyebrow, clearing a non-existent throat. Marcus gently slid his hand out of Earl's.  
“So, when will I expect you to move on and produce an heir, Marcus?” Rachel asked, stirring her cup of tea.  
“Well, mother, that's the thing,” Marcus began. “Earl and I have been going steady for a while and--”  
“Earl?” Rachel asked. “The Harlan's confused younger daughter?”  
“He's not confused, mother,” Marcus corrected weakly.  
Earl nodded, “I'm not. Stone tablets don't lie, Missus Vansten.”  
Rachel turned on Earl, face set in a deep scowl. “You're also the mongrel, correct? The, ah, family pet?”  
Marcus opened his mouth, worried about Earl, but Earl raised a hand, silencing any comeback Marcus had ready.  
“For your information, Rachel,” Earl growled. “Werewolves are a very diverse community.”  
“Funny,” Rachel said, setting the spoon down. “I don't see many mutts these days.” She sipped her tea, brow raised and daring Earl to say anything.  
“Sure, we've had a shaky history, but self-government only works in a sealed vault,” Earl shot back.  
Rachel set down her teacup and began to laugh. “You act like I don't know.”  
“Don't know about what?” Marcus asked, hopelessly lost.  
“I was there when both parts of Night Vale's mutts killed each other off,” Rachel said, smiling at Earl. “I know what happened.”  
“Funny, that,” Earl said, leaning back in his chair. “You act like we're scum. Everyone knows it's either in the blood or in the bite.”  
“And I hope you don't intend to bring that sullied blood into the Vansten house,” Rachel sniffed. She stared down at Earl, sipping her tea again. “Especially not when you're about as confused as can be.”  
Marcus sighed and asked, “Can we drop this? I just wanted some family time, mother.”  
“And you bring her in here,” Rachel pointed out, one gloved hand pointing at Earl. “The Harlan's girl.”  
“Mother, Earl is a wonderful man and he's been incredibly supportive,” Marcus sighed, rubbing at his temples.  
“Supportive of what?” Rachel asked, turning from Earl to Marcus.  
“You don't know?” Earl asked, smirking.  
“Earl, don't,” Marcus begged.   
Earl shook his head and asked, “You didn't tell her?”  
“Well, I was having a bit of a crisis,” Marcus explained. “And she's as helpful as a void summoned in my skull.”  
Earl flinched and reached out, a hand on Marcus' shoulder. Earl ignored Rachel's delicate cough into her gloved fist. He rubbed his back and assured Marcus, “It's alright.”  
“What's alright?” Rachel insisted.  
Marcus looked up at Earl, then at his mother. He stood up and left the room, leaving Earl and Rachel alone together.  
The grandfather clock in the room chimed four. Rachel set her teacup down and turned to Earl.  
“I honestly hope you're a step in Marcus becoming . . . normal, Regina Harlan,” Rachel hissed. And with a shriek and blinding burst of light, she was gone.  
Earl got up and stumbled out of the room. Marcus grubbed his sleeve, pulling him close and holding Earl. His hands were on Marcus' back, rubbing the slow, gentle circles.  
“I can't stand her,” Marcus admitted. “I hope she wasn't too rude to you.”  
“Nothing I can't handle,” Earl assured him. “At least she's gone now.”  
Marcus nodded, kissing Earl's forehead. “You're very brave.”  
“Only when I need to look brave,” Earl said, shrugging.  
“Would it be too much to spend the night at your house?” Marcus asked softly.  
Earl shook his head and told Marcus, “It would be pretty great, actually. I think you need some time away.”  
Marcus laughed and told him, “I practically live at your house.”  
“And that's a bad thing?” Earl asked.

* * *

_“So, Listeners, who's excited for the annual Mother's Worship Tea. For those of you who have mothers who have passed on, This Thursday will be the perfect time to get your maternal guardian off your back about lots of things, like marriage and kids and whether or not to become a weird-autopsy reporter or not._  
_“I think it's going to be swell, Listeners. And for those without a passed-on mother embracing death we almost all embrace, you can adopt a mother. Now you too can be nagged and adored by a female voice of logic and whispered bloodline secrets._  
_“Just remember it's Thursday at the . . . Night Vale Public Library? Hold on, Listeners. That doesn't seem right._  
_“While I ask Intern Maureen about the physical location of these gathered matronly spirits, I'll take you to the Weather. Yeah.”_


	7. Antique Chest of Lycanthropical Historical

“Earl?”  
Earl, who was resting with Marcus on top of him hummed in reply, eye closed.  
“How much do you know about . . . y'know?”  
“About what?” Earl mumbled.  
“About werewolves,” Marcus said. “Or, sorry, lycanthropes.”  
“Werewolves isn't that offensive,” Earl said, rubbing Marcus' back. “At least, not any more.”  
He felt Marcus shift into something less comfortable, bones pressed against Earl's skin. Earl wondered if he should make Marcus proper meals.  
“So how much do you know?”  
Earl shrugged. “About as much as anyone else did.”  
“So you were there when the two factions fought?” Marcus gasped, clearly awed.  
Earl shifted, opening his eyes and staring at him. “I wasn't there, Marcus.”  
“Where were you, then?”  
“I was . . . camping in the desert,” Earl admitted. “I missed the whole massive raids. A good thing, too.”  
“So which one do you belong to?” Marcus asked. “I haven't seen a tattoo anywhere on you.”  
“That's because I don't have any. I wasn't part of one or another,” Earl said.  
Marcus sat up, staring at Earl. “So what are you then? Something free?”  
“I guess,” Earl shrugged. “I've been trying to collect as much as I can. Learn about us and keep it from happening again.”  
Marcus nodded. “That's very noble of you.”  
“It's not supposed to be. The raids, the division of people, all of it was a tragedy.” Earl crossed his arms, fingers dug into his freckled skin. “I don't want more people to die just because some dogs don't play nicely with others.”  
Marcus cupped his cheek and gently told him, “I don't think you're all a bunch of animals.”  
Earl just stared at him, silent and shuddering.  
“Listen, Earl, you're not like any other werewolf I've hear of. You're stable and gentle,” Marcus told him, kissing his forehead. “I love you.”  
Earl gently held Marcus' wrist, kissing the palm of his hand. “I love you too, Marcus. I love you.”  
Marcus kissed him properly, stopping that train of thought for a while.

* * *

They decided to nap together, only waking up to the front door swinging open and giggling.  
Earl turned, careful not to shift too much, and looked up at Kennedy. “Hey. How was school?”  
“It was okay,” Kennedy said, dropping their messenger bag by the kitchen table. “People are asking if Mister Marcus is my new other dad.”  
Earl looked down at Marcus, who was smiling up at him.   
“I don't have a problem being your other dad,” Marcus told Kennedy. “Your bedtime is never, but you should always look out for men with sleek, vintage cars.”  
Earl raised a brow at Marcus.  
Marcus only pecked his lips and added, “Also, you should listen to Earl. He's probably a way better dad.”  
Kennedy laughed and told them, “You're just like Janice's uncle Cecil and his boyfriend.”  
“How so?” Earl asked.  
Kennedy shrugged. “You like each other and make each other laugh and each take-out together.”  
“Speaking of, let's order Chinese again,” Marcus said, getting up and stretching. “I think Chinese sounds amazing.”  
Kennedy nodded and asked Earl, “Can we, Dad?”  
Earl sighed and in mock-exasperation, said, “I'm defeated. Two against one.”  
Marcus pointed out, “You're a werewolf and therefore have inhuman strength.”  
“Well, you're taller than me,” Earl pointed out, sitting up.  
Marcus leaned in and replied, “You've been trained to fight.”  
“You can hire someone to fight for you,” Earl pointed out, leaning in closer.  
Marcus leaned in, closing the small gap between them and locking lips with Earl. Earl reached up, a hand on the back of Marcus' neck, pulling him closer. Marcus made a small noise of protest and Earl lowered his hand.  
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked softly.  
Marcus put his hands on Earl's shoulders and nodded. “I'll be okay, Earl. It's nothing major.”  
Kennedy asked softly, “Is something wrong?”  
Marcus thought for a moment and shook his head, giving them a small smile. “No, Kennedy. Your dad just startled me a bit. I'm alright.”  
“Oh, okay,” Kennedy said. “I'm gonna go up and do my Void Math and Strange French homework in my room.”  
They scooped up their bag in one arm, a binder clutched to their chest. Marcus and Earl watched Kennedy scamper out of the room, light footsteps on the stairs.  
“You're sure you're alright?” Earl asked.  
Marcus sighed, “You know how you don't like people pointing out your monthly issue?”  
Earl nodded.   
“I don't want you to treat me any different because you know,” Marcus told him. “I just want to take things slow and I'll let you know if I need you to stop.”  
“Alright,” Earl told him. “Are you still tired?”  
“No,” Marcus said, getting up. “I'll order. You rest.”  
“I should go help Kenn with their Strange French,” Earl sighed. “They're good but they have some trouble with it.  
“That's understandable,” Marcus said, smiling at Earl.

* * *

After dinner, Marcus and Earl went up to bed.  
“Earl?”  
Earl asked, “What is it?”  
“Do you have anything about werewolves? I want to learn and understand,” Marcus said.  
“I do have a small collection,” Earl admitted.  
“Where'd you find it?” Marcus asked, sitting up and staring at Earl. “Did you fight through old dens? Was it . . . Was it dangerous?”  
“Kinda,” Earl answered, getting up. “I mean, I walked into the Public Library.”  
Marcus gasped, staring at Earl in horror. “How did you survive?”  
“There's a whole first-born sacrifice rule,” Earl said. “It doesn't extend to adopted children though.”  
Marcus whispered, “You're really amazing.”  
Earl shrugged, “I just needed the old books and papers.”  
“So what do you have?” Marcus asked.  
Earl went to the closet, pulling a small, dusty chest from the top shelf. He blew on it and presented it to Marcus. “In here is everything I've collected. Most of it is old and some of the books are falling apart, so I kept them in here to preserve them.”  
“Have you considered having Cecil's boyfriend help you record all the information?” Marcus asked, gently tracing the designs on the chest, most of them simple protection and warding runes. “He seems like the organized type.”  
“I've considered it, but I really don't trust outsiders,” Earl admitted. “I also don't like telling more people than I have to about the whole lycanthropy thing.”  
Marcus nodded in understanding. “I could go with you, if you want.”  
Earl said softly, “We should get some rest, though. It's getting late.”  
“Of course,” Marcus replied.  
Earl put the chest back up in the closet, staring up at the shelf for a moment. Then he joined Marcus in bed, pulling Marcus close.  
“I love you, Earl,” Marcus whispered.  
“I love you too. Now get some rest.”

* * *

Earl woke up to Marcus laying on him. For a while, he just watched the rise and fall of his breath, enjoying holding him close. He got up, carefully tucking Marcus back into bed before going to the bathroom, running the water for a shower.  
He stripped down, staring at himself in the mirror, but not for too long. In addition to the things that liked to slither out when stared at, Earl didn't like his figure much. He got into the shower, letting cold water run down his face to wake him up a bit.  
When he felt warm arms wrapping around him, Earl tensed.  
“Holy shit!” The arms let go and Earl turned around to find Marcus shaking and scrambling out of the shower. “Why do you take such cold showers?”  
Earl looked at him before laughing. “I always take a cold shower in the morning.”  
“It's freezing,” Marcus told him.  
Earl nodded. “I can use warm water, if you like.”  
Marcus though about it before nodding slowly. “I think I might like that.”  
“Alright,” Earl said, adjusting the water temperature. “But I have to get ready for work.”  
“Oh,” Marcus said, joining Earl. He put his arms around him again and said, “That's alright.”

* * *

_“Listeners, I know you think you want to read books and I know you think the Public Library has books, but that's just terrible for everyone. The Librarians in the Public Library seem to be more aggressive and agitated. Or at least, from what a scientist—one of Carlos' colleagues—reported from spying on them through the windows and from across the street._  
_“So, Listeners, just remember that books do not work for a reason and avoid the Public Library. It's just bad planning on your part._  
_“Also, while we try to solve the mystery of blood and blobfish rain that seems to happen every second Tuesday—I mean, where are all these blobfish coming from—I take you now, Listeners, to the Weather.”_


	8. A Little Werewolf Never Hurt Nobody

Marcus stepped into the bedroom at the worst time. He stood, just past the doorway, and watched as Earl injected something into his thigh. With a sigh, Earl removed the needle, almost religious in the way he made sure he disposed of it.  
“What's that?” Marcus asked, making Earl jump.  
“Nothing,” Earl said. “Just hormones.”  
“Oh,” Marcus mumbled. “You don't have to keep it from me, you know.”  
“I know,” Earl told him, pulling his pants up. “I just don't like you to worry about me.”  
“Worrying about each other is what we do,” Marcus said, sitting on the bed next to him. “I worry a lot about you.”  
“Why?” Earl asked, giving Marcus a quick peck on the cheek. “I'm not going to drop dead.”  
“No, but you could,” Marcus told him.  
Earl sighed, rubbing Marcus' back. “Don't worry about it too much, okay? If we all worried about every split second, existential dread would cripple us all.”  
Marcus sighed and said, “I know. I just . . . I worry. What if someone decides they don't like werewolves enough to do something about it?”  
“They wouldn't,” Earl assured him. “I've done the best I can to make sure people see me as personable and a part of the community.”  
“You shouldn't have to,” Marcus sighed. “You should be able to be you.”  
Earl nodded, “But I'd rather be safe than sorry.”  
Marcus sighed and pulled him close, kissing his forehead.

* * *

“Do you think cows exist?”  
Earl turned and looked over his shoulder at Marcus, who simply stared back at him. Earl shrugged and asked, “Why?”  
“Like . . . Outsiders have this whole culture of werewolves eating sheep and cows,” Marcus said. “I believe in cows.”  
“Don't let City Council hear you talking about it,” Earl sighed, focused on dinner. “I'm pretty sure cows don't exist.”  
“They have to exist,” Marcus insisted. “Where else do we get veal?”  
“From some other form of livestock, probably,” Earl said.  
“So what's beef?”  
“Beef is meat and to be offered on the Blood Harvest in midwinter,” Earl said, shrugging. “I thought you knew this.”  
“Yeah, but . . . I think cows exist,” Marcus said firmly, nodding.  
“Why, though?” Earl asked.  
Marcus shrugged, “i just believe in cows.”  
“Are you bringing this up because of Outsider stereotypes about werewolves?” Earl asked. “I'll have you know that I have never attacked anyone's livestock, crops, or children.”  
“What?” Marcus asked. “No. I just . . . Look. Cows can't just not exist. That's ridiculous.”  
“Why don't you go ask Cecil's boyfriend? He's an Outsider,” Earl said offhandedly. “But after dinner.”  
“No,” Marcus said, standing up. “I'm going to ask him right now whether or not cows are a thing.”  
Earl watched Marcus walk out of the kitchen and heard the front door close. He shook his head and set the table.  
“Kennedy, come down for dinner,” Earl called.  
“Coming, Dad!” Kennedy said. They scurried down the stairs and sat at the table. They looked around and finally at Earl. “Where's Mister Marcus?”  
“Marcus went to ask someone something,” Earl explained. “He'll be back soon enough.”  
Kennedy nodded and folded their hands in their lap. “Can we wait for him?”  
“I guess so,” Earl said, smiling at Kennedy. “Do you like him?”  
“Yep,” Kennedy said. “Everyone at school thinks it's so cool you're dating him.”  
“Is that why you wanted me to go out with him?” Earl asked.  
“No,” Kennedy said, looking up at Earl. “He makes you smile more than I've ever seen you smile. He has, like, smile spellcrafting.”  
Earl chuckled as the front door opened. He stepped into the foyer, where Marcus gave Earl a kiss.  
“The Outsider said there are, in fact, cows,” Marcus told him. “So there.”  
Earl sighed, shaking his head. “Come eat before supper gets cold.”  
Marcus gave Earl a quick peck on the cheek and said, “Alright. But I told you cows exist.”  
“Cows exist?” Kennedy asked, turning to stare up at Marcus.  
Earl said, “Look what you started, Marcus.”  
Marcus chuckled, “There's nothing wrong with it, Earl.”

* * *

Earl sighed, resting his head on Marcus' chest. “You're literally the worst. I had to tell Kennedy five times that cows don't exist so they would go to sleep.”  
“What's wrong with believing in cows?” Marcus asked, looking down at Earl.  
Earl shifted, pulling the covers up over them. “Well, nothing if you want to stay in the abandoned mineshaft for the rest of your natural life.”  
“I heard it's a nice place,” Marcus mused.  
“I don't want Kennedy labelled a heretic, Marcus,” Earl told him. “You're literally the worst.”  
“Yeah, but you love me.”  
“I do, you terrible influence,” Earl mumbled, closing his eyes.  
Marcus raced a nonsence constellation on the freckles of Earl's exposed shoulder. “I'm sorry.”  
Earl snorted and told him, “It's alright. I guess you've got enough influence to make the City Council look the other way.”  
Marcus chuckled a bit and nodded. “I do.”  
Earl smiled, kissing him. “You're an idiot and I love you.”  
Marcus kissed the corner of his mouth. “I'll be your favourite idiot.”  
“No other will do,” Earl told him.  
Marcus laughed and told Earl, “You rest, okay? I want to drive Kennedy to school in the morning.”  
“Nothing too dangerous,” Earl begged.  
“Danger? Never,” Marcus said, smiling down at Earl.

* * *

Marcus came back from dropping Kennedy off to find an unmarked box on the doorstep. He picked it up, staring at the brown wax paper. He opened the front door and set it on the table in the foyer, next to Earl's bowl for keys.  
He walked upstairs and found Earl still in bed. Chuckling, Marcus leaned down ad kissed his forehead.  
“What?” Earl asked, rubbing his right eye with the heel of his hand. “Marcus, is Kenn at school?”  
“Mhm,” Marcus replied. “There was a package.”  
“Did you bring it inside?” Earl asked.  
“Yep.”  
“Oh good,” Earl said, sitting up, sheets pooling around his hips. “That's probably the hormones, then.”  
“Couldn't you just use a bloodstone ritual?” Marcus asked.  
Earl shook his head. “There's a lot of paperwork involved and to do everything at once usually burns a body out. So you have to take it slow.”  
Marcus offered his hand, helping Earl out of bed. Earl pulled on a shirt fished out of the wardrobe and sighed.  
“Why injections?” Marcus asked.  
“Because it's the only Outsider thing that works,” Earl said. “There's a whole warp effect for things and injections are just . . . tradition.”  
“I see,” Marcus mumbled.  
“Now come on,” Earl said, leaning up to kiss Marcus' cheek. “I've got to make a pot of coffee.”  
“Sounds perfect,” Marcus said, holding his hand. “But I could get used to seeing you this sleepy.”  
Earl gave him a glare and Marcus chuckled., kissing his forehead

* * *

_“City Council would like to remind everyone that cows do not in fact exist. When asked about the meat products used in soft meat crowns, City Council hissed, in unison, 'Cows do not exiiiiiist.' Like, they just drew out the I._  
_“So beef is listed as an illegal substance. But, without the tyranny of City Council, we would all be fighting wheat and it's by-products._  
_“So, Listeners, I hope you have other meat products to offer this Mid-Winter Festival. The list of approved meats are: Poultry. Fish. Otherwordly fish. Oranges. Vanilla still in its shell. And questionable roadkill._  
_“Now, while I text my scientist boyfriend Carlos to make sure he gets the memo about cows—which don't exist—let me take you to the Weather.”_


End file.
